


Hygienic Necessities

by fawatson



Category: Purposes of Love - Mary Renault
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonna reflects on one difference between her former and current lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hygienic Necessities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilliburlero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/gifts).



> **Request:** I adore Colonna, and think she really should have been the protagonist of the novel. Anything and everything about her: her family background; her schooldays; her year in rep. (especially her year in rep!); her relationship with Valentine (if you fancy writing them a sex-scene, either with Renaultian obliquity or something a touch more up-front, I would love that); her life after the close of the novel. A happy ending for Colonna and Valentine would be lovely; equally, a tense negotiation following Valentine’s affair with Leslie. Or professional questions: how does Colonna’s facilitation of Jan’s auto-euthanasia affect her sense of medical ethics? Does she give up nursing as the novel suggests? If so, what does she do then? I'd love a fic in which she goes back to acting.
> 
>  **Author’s Notes:** (1) Queen Anne cherries are an older variety and are yellow and pink when ripe, not the dark red which is more commonly seen today; (2) This story (which must rank amongst the oddest I have written!) was partly inspired by a visit to St Mary's Hospital in London last week. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

One low wattage bulb swung from a bare flex over her head as Colonna sank down onto the toilet, bent over and cradled her head in her hands. The cramping in her abdomen also roiled in her tummy, as she released tight control on her muscles with almost overwhelming relief. She’d nearly not made it in time. 

“A healthy patient is one who opens his bowels regularly; always make a notation on their chart about their motions and have it to hand when the doctor does his rounds.” 

Sister Verdun’s mantra seemed to echo in her head. ‘Healthy patient’ indeed! As if there was such a creature in a hospital. And not that _anyone_ took note of _her_ motions. She was only a probationary nurse and had had to beg to be allowed a moment off ward to use the facilities. Normally that was not difficult; but the recent influenza epidemic had decimated the nursing staff. She was one of the few who seemed immune to it – though not immune to the perils of gorging on cherries. She did know better, but every year she couldn’t resist the glut. 

She had thought to pass herself off as the latest influenza victim (and then claim early recovery – after enjoying a couple of days rest, that is). But it seemed Matron took a daily constitutional in the park and Colonna had been seen tucking into a large paper bag of Queen Annes. The Sister in charge of her dormitory floor had been warned to watch out for her excuses and brought her straight to Matron the moment she tried to beg off duty. 

“They looked so beautiful: pink and yellow and perfectly ripe. They _called_ to me,” Colonna explained. “I have such a passion for cherries, I just had to eat them.” She looked appealingly at Matron.

“As I saw,” said Matron. “I would have hoped at least _some_ of your passion was reserved for nursing,” she continued sternly, though her lips twitched slightly, a sign Colonna viewed hopefully. In the end, Matron simply concluded unsympathetically, “Well, it’s not contagious, so you’ll just have to manage. Let it be a lesson to you not to do things on your day off that affect your work the next day.” It was not the answer Colonna had hoped for. She thought she might have expected a little more compassion given she had over-indulged in fruit rather than wine, particularly given the bowl of cherries prominently displayed on Matron’s own desk. However, it seemed not. Colonna’s morning work changing bed linens and helping Staff Nurse with dressings had been punctuated with periodic dashes to the nurses’ toilet. 

It was a tiny cubicle, clearly never renovated since installed. The large square sink grandly sported the name Doulton but also sported a jagged crack in one corner. It was over large for washing hands and set slightly lower than comfort, reminding Colonna of the lavatories at her old school which had included lower level wash basins for the smaller girls. This one, however, had clearly been positioned to enable dual purpose use – for buckets as well as hands, as the grey-looking mop and heap of dirty floor cloths in the corner stood testament. Colonna contemplated the dingy brown lino as a gentle fart heralded the end of this session. It took several squares of torn newspaper to wipe the mess before she pulled up her knickers. Shuddering at the lingering smell, she opened the window slightly, and made good use of soap and nail brush before she returned to the ward. 

On her return Sister gave her a long silent look, before pointing her toward the medication cabinet. She began arranging the trays for midday treatments, fortunately not as long a list as that for morning meds (not evening). It would, of course, be checked by Sister before she was allowed to hand out the tablets. But, as befitted a probationer in her second year, she was learning to read the charts and organise the medicines, not to mention keep the records necessary for control of drugs. Any needles would, however, be dealt with by the Ward Sister. Colonna would not be trusted with them, even under close supervision, until her final year. 

The afternoon proved better than the morning. As the cherries worked their way through her system she had to make only one last dash to the lavatory, fortunately well before she was called on to go down to collect a patient from theatre. An orderly helped her wheel the patient, still unconscious in his bed, back to the corner of the ward where Sister had positioned screens. Colonna waited patiently until he came round, then supported his shoulders and held the basin for him through the inevitable post-anaesthetic vomiting. At least this one didn’t shout, the way many did. She inspected the vomit for traces of blood (fortunately none) before taking it to the same lavatory for disposal, only to discover, on her return, that he had been sick again, this time without benefit of basin. Back to the lavatory she went to collect aluminium bucket, mop and floor cloths. She knew from experience she could _call_ an orderly to clean the mess but the chance of one arriving before end of shift was slim. It was simpler to do it herself. She was crouching down to clean spatters from the bed frame when a retching sound warned her and she ducked her head just in time to avoid the worst of the deluge: more to clean, including one corner of her twill uniform – and yet another trip to the tiny lavatory. 

Of course it put her still more behind in the schedule. Surgical cases tended to as, despite the fact they were very much the norm, ward routines had not been devised to take account of the additional work they created. That, on top of being short-staffed anyway, plus behind because of her too frequent personal breaks, meant 6 o’clock came and went and Colonna worked on, finishing tasks before she could fully handover to the probationer who had come to replace her and make her weary way to the canteen. There she choked down a lukewarm portion of rather stodgy steak and kidney pudding accompanied by some very tired-looking limp green beans. She declined cherry cobbler offered as a seasonal pudding. 

The dormitory corridor was completely quiet, with the exception of muffled coughing coming from the room second from the end. These days there was no visiting from one room to another. Those still well were too tired from working extra shifts; and illness had sucked the energy and interest in socialising from all the rest. It meant, unusually, that there was no queue for the bathroom. Colonna made a beeline for it and started the taps running, before going to collect nightie and dressing gown. Her smelly uniform she stripped off quickly and carried the laundry hamper at the far end of the corridor before she returned to lock herself into the bathroom. She sank down onto the bathmat and rested her head against the high sided tub, listening to the water splashing, and watching the small mirror over the sink gradually cover with steam. For once she would be able to have a nice deep bath, instead of the more usual three inches of water that was all you were supposed to use. _And_ a bath undisturbed by hammering on the door from the next person waiting. 

It was not long before Colonna eased herself into water that was just this side of too hot, lay back, and contemplated her surroundings. The bathroom walls had been tiled halfway up: cream topped with a black rim. Above the tiles, were walls painted that horrid apple green she remembered from the servants’ rooms at home. That same green had been used, she also recalled, in the tiny noisome lavatory in the London theatre where she used to work, _and_ at the boarding house where she used to live. Not for the first time since she broke with her family, Colonna reflected that the _real_ difference between affluence and poverty lay in the lavatories and bathrooms. Even the poor could afford cherries, at least once a year (and they could not be had for love nor money out of season no matter _how_ rich you were). But a lavatory with sparkling fixtures, cleaned by someone else, or a deep bathtub full of heated water? Ah, those were reserved for the wealthy! (And, very occasionally, tired nurses.)


End file.
